The Domino Effect
by Elf Eye
Summary: Gandalf and Anomen journey into Dunland-and into trouble. Part of the 'Nameless One' Series.
1. Chapter 1

**Yet another elfling Anomen tale. The lad simply cannot stay out of trouble.**

With Elrond at his side, Gandalf stood at the door to the Hall and looked about him expectantly.

"Where is Anomen? I had thought he would want to see me off."

"He was in the library just now," volunteered Elladan and Elrohir with one voice.

"Would you like us to fetch him for you?" Elladan added.

"If you would. He will be disappointed if he does not have an opportunity to bid me farewell."

The twins hurried off. A short time later they burst back outside, highly excited.

"Anomen had destroyed the library," Elrohir announced importantly.

"Destroyed the library?" said their father. "How do you mean?"

"I mean destroyed it," replied Elrohir. "Ruined it. Wrecked it."

Elrond raised his eyebrows. It seemed highly unlikely that an elfling should be able to destroy a library within the space of a few minutes.

"Let us see what has happened," he announced calmly. He walked with Gandalf and the twins to the room in question. There stood a furious Erestor who, upon hearing alarming noises, had come running from his nearby chamber.

"Has the Hall been attacked by Orcs," he fumed, "that such a mess should be created!"

Truly, the library was in a remarkable state. Bookcase after bookcase had fallen over, each case resting on another, and books had cascaded onto the floor.

"You see!" Elrohir exclaimed triumphantly. "Anomen has destroyed the library!"

"The library is not destroyed," said Elrond mildly. "Once the bookcases have been righted and the books restored to their places, it shall be as it was before. I very much, wonder, however, how Anomen managed to push over so many bookcases in such a short time."

"It was not necessary for Anomen to push over all these bookcases," said Gandalf. "It only required that he knock over one."

"Mithrandir," objected Erestor, "I know Men do not have vision as keen as that of Elves, but even so you must see that more than one bookcase has been knocked over. The evidence lies before us!"

"I am not blind," retorted Gandalf sharply. "Many bookcases are indeed fallen, but Anomen knocked over only the one."

"Oh, and the others toppled over out of sympathy," Erestor said sarcastically.

Elrond raised his hand.

"Peace, Erestor. Let us listen to Mithrandir's explanation."

"Amongst Men," said Gandalf, "there is a game wherein the players match the ends of tiles together, generally according to the number of dots carved or painted upon the game pieces."

"I have seen that game played," said Elrond. "They call these tiles 'dominoes', do they not?"

"Yes," agreed Gandalf. "Now, when the adults are not playing with these tiles, sometimes the children of Men will take them and line them up on end in long rows, each tile close to its fellow. After all the dominoes are in place, a child will knock over the first one, which will bring down the second one, which will bring down the third one, and so on and so forth. If each tile has been carefully placed, then all the tiles shall be brought down by the fall of the first one. Men call it the 'domino effect'."

"Oh ho!" chortled Elrond, amused at the idea. "So you think that Anomen has been playing dominoes with these bookcases."

"In effect, yes."

"_I_ don't see what is so funny about that," spluttered Erestor. "Anyway, how did Anomen manage to knock over the first domino, as it were? Anomen is not large for his age!"

"True," conceded Gandalf, "but even a small elfling could topple a bookcase if he tried to climb up the front of it. That bookcase there is clearly the first one to have fallen. Erestor, would Anomen have had any reason to climb atop it?"

"Ye-es," said Erestor slowly. "He might have—although no _good_ reason, I can assure you! You of course know that Anomen has a penchant for reading the most outrageous works of fiction—fairytales of Men and that sort of trash. I caught him wasting his time over a book about unicorns—arrant nonsense about beasts laying horns in the laps of maidens. I took the volume from him and warned him not to meddle with it again. For good measure, I put it on top of that bookcase so that he couldn't reach it even by standing upon a chair. Imagine! a youngling of his age reading such salacious narratives!"

"Salacious?" inquired Elrond, both eyebrows canted.

"Of course! Elrond, we are talking about beasts putting horns in the laps of maidens. Horns! Laps! Maidens! Brrr!"

Here Erestor, aghast, shook himself all over the way a dog shakes water from its coat, as if by doing so he could free himself from the taint of the mingling of horns and laps and maidens.

"Erestor," exclaimed Gandalf, "if the book truly was salacious—which I doubt—you couldn't have done a better jog of encouraging Anomen to spare no effort at laying his hands upon it once more!"

"I am afraid I must agree with Mithrandir," said Elrond. "Men have a tale about 'forbidden fruit'. The gist of it is, that nothing is more desirable than that which has been forbidden, a truism for the young of both Man and Elf. I see now what has happened. Anomen tried climbing up the shelves to reach the book. The case toppled forward. Anomen leaped clear, but the bookcase crashed into the next one, bringing it down. As the second case fell, it brought down a third one, and so it continued, until all these bookcases were downed and their contents dumped upon the floor."

"Well," growled Erestor, "that may be so, but as he brought down the first bookcase, he is responsible for the fall of the subsequent ones. Where is the scamp? He is going to have to put back each and every one of these books!"

Elrond sighed.

"He has no doubt fled in terror of punishment. He still fears mistreatment and is not convinced that he will merely be held responsible for dealing with the consequences of his actions—no more, no less."

Erestor calmed himself at once.

"You are right of course," he said soberly. "The poor lad is certainly in a state of great fear and is hiding himself somewhere. I do wish he would trust us. I know I have a nasty bark, but I would never hurt him. Not even Glorfindel would hurt him."

"Especially not Glorfindel," murmured Elrond. "Well," he said more loudly, "we shall simply have to wait for Anomen to calm himself and return to us. Mithrandir, it is altogether likely that the lad may not come forth before nightfall. Indeed, he may stay out so long that it will be necessary to send Glorfindel in search of him. You had better be on your way."

"Yes," agreed Gandalf reluctantly. "I suppose you are right. Tell him that I am sorry I could not bid him farewell."

Elrond promised that he would, and Gandalf departed the Hall, making for the south. He had agreed to meet Radagast near the Gap of Rohan, and then the two of them would journey together to Isengard, for Saruman, the head of their order, was desirous that they should share with him what they had lately learned about conditions in the lands through which they had passed.

On the wizard strolled for several hours. As he walked, he sang in his gravelly voice, which none save Hobbits and crows seemed to appreciate—and Anomen, of course, for whom the Istar could do no wrong. Gandalf could have howled like a wolf and the elfling would have found him melodious.

At length, the wizard stopped for tea—yes, such was the influence of the Hobbits upon Gandalf that tea had become a regular part of his daily routine even in the Wild. He had just unpacked his camp kettle when he became aware that he was not alone. Someone was lurking in a nearby bush and spying out his every move. The wizard's eyebrows bristled, and he addressed the bush.

"I know you are in there, so you may as well come out of there right now," called Gandalf.

Whoever was in the bush kept perfectly still.

Gandalf sighed and then arose. Reaching for his staff, he walked over to the bush and thrust the stick into its midst.

"Ow!"

"Come out if you don't want more of the same."

Anomen crawled from the bush, rubbing at his pate.

"What were you doing in there," Gandalf demanded sternly.

"Hiding."

"I know _that_! _Why_ were you hiding?"

"So I wouldn't be found."

Gandalf's bristling eyebrows seemed to grow in volume.

"Anomen Elrondion, you tell me right now why you were hiding in that bush."

As every youngling knows, it is very bad to be addressed by one's full name. Anomen quailed.

"So I won't be punished," the elfling stammered. "On account of the library," he added hastily, eyeing Gandalf's staff apprehensively.

"And you think that running away and hiding in a bush will keep you from being punished?

"If I can't be found, I can't be punished." Anomen said stubbornly.

"So you are going to spend the remainder of your immortal life cowering in a bush. How very clever of you!"

Anomen colored and looked at his feet.

"And now," continued Gandalf, "I have got to turn about and return with you to Rivendell."

Anomen looked up.

"Oh, no, Mithrandir, you needn't. I can find my way back."

"I am sure you could, but whether you _would_, that what _I_ want to know."

Anomen looked down. Had he forfeited the wizard's trust?

"I am sorry, Mithrandir," he said sadly.

"I won't say, 'That's alright, my lad'," continued Gandalf, "because it is not. But you needn't spend the rest of your life looking at your feet. You have made a mistake, and you will have to return to Rivendell and face the consequences. But lift up your chin so that you are not forever tripping!"

Obediently, Anomen looked up.

"That's better. Well, as you are here, we might as well make the best of it—_I_ will, anyway! I was about to collect more sticks for the fire, but now I needn't. Look sharp! I'm thirsty and want some tea!"

Anomen scurried off, grateful to be given something to do, and quickly returned with an armful of dry branches. To light camp fires, Gandalf usually made use of flint and steel, reserving his magic for important occasions. Today, however, knowing that Anomen was feeling sorrowful, he kindled a blaze with a great flourish of his staff and an impressive, albeit unnecessary, incantation. Anomen's face brightened with the fire. Without being prompted, he cheerfully seized the camp kettle and ran off to fill it. He was rewarded when, after tea, Gandalf lit his pipe and commenced blowing far more smoke animals than he otherwise would have for his own amusement.

"Mithrandir," Anomen ventured timidly after awhile, "are you sure it is quite necessary for you to turn back."

"I have said that I don't wish to leave you to your own devices."

"Oh, I understand that," Anomen said hastily, "but if I were to accompany you, I wouldn't be left to my own devices, would I?"

"You mean 'accompany' me as in to go on this journey with me?"

"Yes," Anomen said eagerly.

"And what of Elrond, who at this very moment is probably wondering what has become of his charge? Not to mention poor Glorfindel, who is the one who will shortly be sent in search of you—again!"

"I am friends with many birds hereabouts. I am sure one wouldn't mind carrying a message to Lord Elrond."

"Hmmph!" snorted Gandalf, putting on an air of skepticism. The truth was, though, that the wizard regretted the fact that his busy schedule, as it were, prevented him from spending more time with Elrond's fosterling. He had always been a little sorry that circumstances had required him to relinquish the elfling to the elf-lord's care.

'And after all, what harm could it do if he journeyed with me?' he asked himself. 'I merely go to meet Radagast and then on to Isengard. I am on foot; Anomen wouldn't slow me down appreciably. My legs are longer than his, but he will make up for that with his boundless enthusiasm. For every step I take, he will no doubt take three, aye, and still have energy to spare!'

Aloud he said gruffly, "I suppose I could use your services as a skivvy. I am rather tired of scavenging firewood, hauling water, and scouring dishes. Mind you, I expect you to work hard, and no complaining!"

Anomen assured him that he would work very hard indeed.

"Very well, then. Hunt up one of your bird friends."

Anomen went aside and gave several bird calls, returning with a crow perched upon his shoulder. Gandalf, meanwhile, had taken a small piece of bark and scratched the runes for 'G' and 'A' upon the smooth side.

"Elrond should guess from these signs that you are in my company," the wizard said to Anomen as he handed the bark to the crow. Clutching the bark in its beak, the bird launched itself into the air and flew off toward Rivendell. Then, the tea break at an end, wizard and elfling arose and headed south, making for the Gap of Rohan. First, of course, they would have to travel through Dunland—and their path through that land would be very long indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to the following reviewers: _Joee__, Legosgurl_, and _Karri_.**

Elrond stood on the balcony of his chamber. In his hand he held a small object that he studied with interest.

"What do you gaze upon so intently?" said Glorfindel, coming to stand by his side.

"A piece of bark."

"It must be a singular piece of bark, for you seem riveted by it."

In answer, Elrond handed Glorfindel the bark. The balrog-slayer looked at it and shrugged.

"A piece of bark."

"Turn it over, my friend."

Glorfindel did so.

"Runes for the letters 'G' and 'A'."

"You are very observant," said Elrond dryly.

"How came you by this?"

"A crow delivered it just now."

"And what do you make of it?

"That you have no need to go in search of Anomen, as would otherwise have been the case."

"Your reasoning?"

"Anomen followed Mithrandir, who has caught him out and will now keep the scamp by his side until he returns from Isengard."

Glorfindel nodded.

"Like as not you are correct. Well, I intend to make the most of this surprise gift of unencumbered time. I shall go dally in the garden for awhile."

Elrond raised his eyebrows.

"Dally?"

"Yes," replied Glorfindel. "Dally. Do tell the Gardener that he needn't attend to the garden today. If there is any deflowering to be done, I shall see to it."

"Be certain that you do not pluck any buds before their time, my friend," smiled Elrond.

"Of course not," Glorfindel replied airily as he strode away. "Where would be the pleasure in that?"

Elrond shook his head ruefully as the balrog-slayer vanished out the door.

"I don't wonder at his having survived a balrog," he muttered, "but his having eluded all those irate fathers all these years, now _that_ is a true marvel."

Gandalf and Anomen were certainly not anywhere near a garden at this point, but they were enjoying their own version of dallying, although it was not one that Glorfindel would have recognized. Anomen was delighted to have Gandalf's full attention as they walked, and the youngling was peppering the wizard with questions. Gandalf, for his part, was on no portentous errand that demanded the marshalling of all his energy and wits. It was therefore with the greatest of patience and good humor that he answered each of Anomen's queries, and at great length, too. Only the approach of darkness put a stop to the exchange.

"Well, Anomen," said the wizard, "we had best stop and make camp. You go gather sticks whilst I lay out our gear."

The latter task was a simple one. Anomen had run away without gathering together any of his possessions, so there was only Gandalf's kit, which was minimal, for this trip was to have been a short one. The wizard had slept wrapped in his robe the previous night and meant to do so again, thus leaving his lone blanket to Anomen. Gandalf also was carrying only the one cup, bowl, and spoon, but he had good-naturedly been sharing them with the elfling. Anomen would drink from the cup whilst the wizard supped from the bowl, and then they would trade. So now the wizard leaned his staff against a tree and shook out the bedroll before laying it on a spot that seemed clear of roots. He then placed the bowl, cup, and spoon upon the ground next to a spot that he began to clear of leaves so that a fire might be kindled there.

As he worked, he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him.

'Ah, the lad has made quick work, to be back so soon', he said to himself. At that very moment, something very hard crashed down upon his head, and he fell forward onto his face. He was dimly aware that someone had come to stand upon his left, but also to his right, and at his head. He warily peered out through his eyelashes and found himself staring at a pair of largish boots not of elven design.

'Dunlendings', he groaned to himself.

One of the Dunlendings reached down and, gripping his cloak, pulled him to feet.

"What have we got here?" the Man snarled. "A trespasser, is it? What'll ye give us to let ye off this time?"

"You may take anything you wish," said Gandalf calmly. He prayed the Men would rob him and begone before Anomen returned to the camp. There was ill-blood between the Dunlendings and the Elves, and Gandalf did not doubt for a minute but that they would beat the lad or, worse, carry him off to sell him to the Southrons.

"Oh, we may take anything we wish, may we?" sneered the Man. "Very obliging of ye, especially considerin' ye don' have any choice in the matter." He nodded at his companions. "What we got there?"

One of the Men answered, his voice disgusted.

"Cup, bowl, 'n' spoon, but they's all wood. Camp kettle's metal, anyway. Flint'n'steel. His knife. Blanket, but made of coarse stuff. The clothes he's wearin', of course, but they don' look any finer than his blanket.

Fortunately, the Men were quite unable to see upon Gandalf's finger the Ring of Narya that Círdan had entrusted to the wizard upon his arrival at Mithlond. Just to be sure, though, Gandalf mustered all the power he could without recourse to his staff to prevent the Men from inadvertently catching sight of that most valuable of rings.

Furious at how slender their haul was, the Man gripping Gandalf's cloak raised his hand to strike the wizard, but the third Man called out, "Hold up, there. We weren't expectin' to encounter anyone this day, so any loot we gather is a gift, like. But we may be able to do even better, if we play our cards right. Those Southrons what came through yesterday said they'd pay fer any prisoners. Any prisoners! They didn't say only young and strong ones."

"But what could they do with an old Man?" growled Gandalf's captor.

"_I_ don' know," replied the third Man. "But what does it matter? That's the Southrons' affair, not ours! As long as they pay, I care not!"

"True," agreed the Man clutching Gandalf's cloak. "Very well, let's hurry and catch up with those traders. You'd better leg it, old Man," he snarled at the wizard.

"I am sure I shall try," replied Gandalf. "May I have my staff? I could walk faster with its aid."

But to make use of the staff, the wizard would have to have his hands free, and his captor had no intention of leaving him unsecured. The Man pulled Gandalf's hands behind his back and tightly bound his wrists. Then he yanked him forward, and off they marched, leaving Gandalf's staff still resting against the tree. Everything else they took. Such was the impoverished state of Dunland that even a wooden spoon had value—but not, apparently, a staff that looked like a length of wood that anyone could pick up from the forest floor.

Their departure had not been unmarked. Anomen had finished collecting firewood, but, hearing voices, he very wisely had forborne entering the clearing. Instead, he had crept up to its edge and seen all that had transpired. He had understood at once that the Men did not realize that he was about, and he resolved that they should not. This was very brave of him because, if he had shown himself to the Men, they would have taken him prisoner, but they would have also taken pains to keep him alive. Now he was a youngling in the middle of the Wild with no blanket, no food, and no way of obtaining either. He could not even kindle a fire to keep off the wolves at night, for the thieves had taken Gandalf's flint and steel. But, whatever the risk to himself, he was resolved to stay at liberty so that he could watch for an opportunity to assist his belovéd wizard.

'First', he said to himself, 'I must summon help. I shan't go myself, for if I did, the Men would have too much of a head start. I am afoot, and I should have to walk the entire distance—and I wouldn't be able to walk very quickly, for I should be hungry and cold. No, I shall not go myself'.

Anomen hunted about for a piece of bark and the sharpest rock he could find. First he scratched the runes for 'M' and 'A' upon the bark; then he broke it into two pieces, the 'M' on one half, the 'A' on another. That finished, he called again for his bird friends. A crow soon appeared, but Anomen did not leave off calling until a second one arrived. To each Anomen gave a piece of bark. Together the two birds rose into the air and winged toward Rivendell.

That done, Anomen picked up Gandalf's staff and stole off in the direction that the Men had gone. The elfling could not know it, but while he had been deciding what to do, Gandalf had been undergoing his own internal debate.

'Did I do wrong', the Istar had worried, 'in not calling upon Anomen to come out of hiding? He has been left on his own in a dangerous place. It might be better if he were here, with these Dunlendings. It is true that the Men would wish to sell him to the Southrons, but he would be fed and protected, and he could be on the lookout for an opportunity to escape when conditions are more favorable to his survival. No! no! no! I am talking nonsense! It is better than he is at liberty. Anomen is a resourceful youngling. Why, he journeyed from Greenwood to Rivendell, quite a feat for someone of his age. Surely he shall be able to make his way back to Rivendell this second time. Yes, I am certain of it'.

Preoccupied with such thoughts, Gandalf felt no concern at all for himself, even though his situation was a fairly dire one. It is true that the Dunlendings hoped to find a buyer for him, but they were being excessively optimistic. Any Southron trader worth his salt would have taken one look at the skinny old wizard and concluded that he would be unlikely to survive the march south. Here the trader would have been mistaken, for Gandalf was far tougher than he looked. But it mattered not how strong he was in deed; all that mattered was whether a trader would deem him worth the risk of several copper coins—and Southrons were not known for throwing their money away. And if the Southrons would not pay for him, the Dunlendings, anxious to profit in any way possible, would crush his skull and strip him of his boots and clothes, then toss his body aside to fatten their pigs.

Knowing this to be the case, Gandalf was all the gladder that Anomen was not by his side.

'I should not want the lad to see me come to such an end', he thought. 'Even should he escape later, or be rescued by Elrond's folk, he would never again take joy in Middle-earth. No, he would fade, unless he could be quickly gotten to the Grey Havens—and even then I am not sure that he would survive'.

The wizard glanced anxiously over his shoulder.

"I do hope', he said to himself, 'that Anomen _is_ making for Rivendell'.

"Here, you," snarled the wizard's captor. "No malingering. March on!"

With that, the Man gave Gandalf such a shove that the wizard stumbled and nearly fell. Catching himself, he looked straight ahead and strode on.

Shadowing Gandalf and his captors from the safety of the scrub, Anomen was all the more resolved to do something to rescue his wizard.


	3. Falling Into The Sun

**Folks, the chair of my department has**** assigned me to teach a course on Tolkien during Spring Semester, 2006. He he! Now I've got a great excuse for continuing to pour over his works: I'm preparing for my class!**

**_Dragonfly:_ Yes, Gandalf should have known better. Anomen will stick to him like the burrs on his cloak.**

**_Kel_****: Yep. More adventure, more peril. If a cat has nine lives, then surely Anomen has at least that many. Appropriate number, that.**

**_Joee_****: So who says he _doesn't_ get sold to the Southrons?**

_Legosgurl_: Stay out of trouble? Stay out of trouble! Anomen could _never_ stay out of trouble (and do we really want him to?) By the way, I'm going to guess that you are British. In an earlier review, you referred to 'adverts' for KitKat bars. In the U.S. we call them 'ads'. Did I guess right?

_Karri:_ Yes, a dire twist—and about to get direr. Thanks for pointing out the mistake for the name of the ring, an error that has now been corrected. _Dragonfly_ noticed that mistake, too, and sent me an e-note. Good thing the old challenge was not in effect—find an error and you get to propose the next story topic! Anyway, challenge or no challenge, I figure I'd better start relying on a Beta Reader again, and so…

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_.**

**Chapter 3: Falling Into The Sun**

Elrond and Glorfindel stood together on the balcony looking up at the stars. Glorfindel looked more than usually content, even for an Elf.

"I suppose you have had a very pleasant day," Elrond commented sardonically.

"Yes, a very pleasant day," agreed Glorfindel. "Very pleasant—pleasurable, really."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. Lovely spot, the garden. But what are those? Rather large for bats. Besides, they do not flit about as bats do but move along a straight path, as the crows fly."

Elrond looked at where Glorfindel was pointing.

"Yes, they are assuredly not bats. As you have said, they fly along a decidedly straight path, after the fashion of crows."

After a few more minutes it became apparent that the night flyers _were_ crows. The birds flew directly to the balcony and perched upon the railing. Each held a bit of bark in its beak. Elrond gently retrieved the two pieces of bark, handing each bird a small piece of biscuit in exchange. The birds bobbed their heads in acknowledgment and flew off. Elrond, followed by Glorfindel, went into his chamber and held the bits of bark near a candle.

"This one is marked with the rune for 'M'; that one by the rune for 'A'.

"Another message from Mithrandir?"

"No, this message is from Anomen, and it contains alarming news. Anomen and Mithrandir have become separated, and Mithrandir is in need of immediate aid."

"How do you know that Anomen sent the message and is not in fact the one who needs assistance?"

"Oh, I am sure that he does as well, but it is Mithrandir who is unable to communicate. Had he carved these letters, he would have used the rune 'G' for 'Gandalf'. It is Anomen who would use the rune 'M' for 'Mithrandir', for he addresses him only by that name. Glorfindel, there will be no dallying for you tomorrow. I am afraid that I must ask you to ride out."

"There will be no dallying tonight, either," Glorfindel replied grimly. "Mithrandir is unable to send a message, and Anomen is on his own. Did you really think I would wait until morning before setting out?"

Elrond smiled a little.

"No, I suppose that would be a foolish notion. I shall roust up the Head Cook and have him pack foodstuffs. How many scouts will you take?"

"Mithrandir was heading south, through Dunland. The Dunlendings are easily cowed, but they have commerce with other, stouter folk, such as Southrons. I shall take a score of warriors."

Elrond nodded.

"Very well, my friend. I shall see that the Cook is so informed."

In short order Glorfindel's scouts were in the stable saddling their horses, and to the stable the Cook and his skivvies carried packages of food to be evenly distributed amongst the saddlebags of the riders. The newly risen moon was still high when Glorfindel and his troop galloped across the bridge and vanished into the woods surrounding Imladris.

The moon also shone down upon Anomen as, hidden in the bushes, he surveyed the Dunlending camp before him. He had been hoping that after supper all the Men would lay themselves down to sleep, but instead one was keeping watch while the other two slept. No doubt the Southrons would be equally vigilant, if not more so. Earlier that evening one of the Men had briefly left the camp and returned to tell the other two that the Southrons would stop by the camp in the morning. Anomen decided that he had no choice but to act, even with one of the Men awake. Gandalf was seated with his back to a tree, his wrists bound to it. Carefully the elfling crept up behind him. As he did so, the wizard became aware of his presence.

"Anomen," whispered Gandalf when the elfling was directly behind him. "Anomen, you must flee at once."

"Not without you," Anomen whispered back. "Don't you remember that you said you didn't want to leave me to my own devices?"

"Circumstances have changed," Gandalf whispered urgently. "Be off with you!"

"You can't very well make me," retorted Anomen stubbornly.

Gandalf sighed. No, he could not very well make Anomen do much of anything, and that even when his hands were not tied!

"Very well," he said resignedly. "You may untie my wrists, but if the Man should notice anything amiss, you scamper off straightaway!"

Anomen set to work on the knots, but the rope proved too thick and stiff for his small fingers.

"I can't, Mithrandir," he whispered after awhile.

"You shall have to cut through the rope, then."

"I don't have my knife," Anomen reminded the wizard, feeling very much ashamed. He had fled Rivendell heedlessly, without giving any thought to what he would need to survive in the Wild. "Mithrandir," he pleaded, "I cannot leave you! I have got your staff. Isn't there some way you can use it?"

"Let me think, my lad."

After a few moments, Gandalf had an idea.

"Anomen, I shall have to wield it through you. With one hand, you must hold my staff—the arm with the birthmark would be best, I think—and with the other you must grasp one of my hands as tightly as you can."

Anomen carefully maneuvered himself until he could do what Gandalf asked while still staying out of sight of the watching Man.

"Now, you must point the end of the staff toward those three villains. The ones who sleep are right next to the one keeping guard, so I believe I can work upon them all simultaneously. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Mithrandir."

"You will have to hold on very tightly," Gandalf warned.

"I shall," Anomen promised, tightening his grip on both Gandalf's hand and the staff. Just then, the Man keeping watch arose and with his foot nudged one of the sleeping Men, who gaped and sat up.

"My turn already?" he yawned.

"I heard something just now. Probably nothing but a hare, but I'd best have a look around."

"I must act now," murmured Gandalf.

Suddenly Anomen's body was jolted mightily as power flowed in one hand and out the other. He tried to open his mouth to cry out but found that his body would not obey his will. Around him the air crackled and burned with a white light, and he could see nothing for the brightness. 'I have fallen into the sun', he thought dazedly.

From the glow surrounding Anomen's body, a flame arced forth and struck the three Men. They were thrown several feet through the air, and when they landed, they lay quite still, smoke arising from their bodies.

"Anomen," Gandalf said anxiously. "You may let go now."

Whimpering a little, Anomen slowly uncurled his fingers, releasing both Gandalf's hand and his staff. Then he collapsed upon the ground, eyes closed, face pale.

"Anomen," Gandalf said, gently but insistently. "You must rouse yourself. You must fetch one of the Men's knives, else all our efforts will have been for naught."

Anomen opened his eyes and nodded weakly. Too dizzy to stand, he crawled on his hands and knees toward the bodies of the Dunlendings. As he drew near, the elfling shuddered when he saw that the Men were bleeding from eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. Still, he bravely laid hold of one their knives and drew it from its sheath, crawling back to Gandalf with it clutched in his hand. Once the elfling reached the wizard, he set about sawing through the rope that bound his mentor. It was slow going, though, for the hand with which he had held the staff was so numb that he could scarcely make use of it.

"Hurry," Gandalf urged him. "You must free me before the Men regain consciousness. I do not think you can again hold the staff whilst I wield its power through you."

"I don't think they will wake up very soon," Anomen said softly. "They look dreadful, Mithrandir. There is blood coming from their noses and their mouths, and their ears and eyes as well."

"Oh dear," muttered Gandalf. "I must have put more into it than I meant to."

Of course, he was not the least bit worried about the Men, but he realized that Anomen had been subjected to a more powerful force than he had intended, and he worried about the harm it may have done to him.

Anomen's hand was so unsteady that several times he nicked Gandalf, but the wizard gave no sign. At last Anomen succeeded in cutting through the rope binding Gandalf's wrists, and the wizard at once took the knife from him and cut the bonds on his ankles. He groaned a little as he flexed both wrists and ankles.

"There now—life is coming back to them. Well, I suppose I should see to those wretched Men."

The wizard groaned again as he staggered to his feet and limped over to his former captors. It took only a glance, however, before he realized that he could do nothing for them.

"Bit of an overkill, so to speak," he said to himself. "Well, can't be helped now."

He turned toward Anomen, who, very pale, was sitting where Gandalf had left him. As Gandalf watched, Anomen pitched forward and vomited violently. Alarmed, Gandalf ran to kneel by his side. With one hand, he took hold of Anomen's trembling shoulder, and with the other he pulled the elfling's hair back from his face.

"You poor lad! You were altogether unprepared for such a powerful blow. You must receive proper care as quickly as possible. Now, let me see," the wizard mused. "Which would be closer, Rivendell or Isengard? Isengard, I believe. Very well. I shall carry you to Saruman."

"Imladris," gasped Anomen.

"Isengard is nearer, my lad."

"Imladris," Anomen gasped again, trying to shake his head but quickly abandoning the effort because it made him all the dizzier.

"I suppose," said Gandalf thoughtfully, "that the happier you are, the quicker you will heal. All right, then. I shall carry you to Rivendell."

Gandalf carefully wrapped the elfling in his cloak, then picked him up and propped him—draped him, really—on his shoulder. The elfling lay there quite limply, and, with one hand steadying the elfling and the other gripping his staff, the Istar arose to his feet. He had hardly taken a step, however, before a rough voice ordered him to halt. Dawn was upon the clearing, and the Southrons had arrived.


	4. Forced March

**_Farflung_**** Mae govannen, mellon-nîn! Yes, I am going to have a grand time teaching that Tolkien class. Ah, great minds think alike: as I was writing about the cascade of shelves, I also remembered that scene in the _Mummy_. There is a send-up of that scene in a later installment of the _Mummy_, where the son knocks over a series of scaffolds in a tomb. About the book: I suspect it was naughtier in Erestor's mind than in reality. He is a typical censor, finding licentiousness where there is none. I agree with you about Gandalf's singing in the movie. I found it quite pleasant. To the discerning ear of an elf, however, it would no doubt be unsatisfactory.**

**_Dragonfly:_ You're right: it was hoping for too much that the Southrons would leave behind anyone who might enable them to turn a profit. Besides, what would happen to the story if the Southrons just said 'never mind' and walked off?**

**_Kel_**** Yep. I see bad things arisin'.  
_Emma:_ Yes, poor Anomen, indeed! Mwah hah hah!  
_Joee_ I'm cudgeling my brain trying to figure out some way to get Legolas into Shelob's lair. So far nothing has occurred to me.  
_Legosgurl_ So you live close to Scotland. My daughter and I will be in London in August, but we won't be anywhere near Scotland. Darn.  
_Karri:_ Dire, eh? Yes, I like dire.**

**Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_**

**Chapter 4: Forced March**

The Southrons were entering the clearing from all sides. Gandalf brandished his staff, but he was afraid to use it.

'I dare not cast a spell', he thought to himself, 'not while I am holding Anomen. It could be fatal for him to be exposed any further to my power'.

Yet putting Anomen down seemed to be out of the question. Gandalf feared that, whilst he fought off some of the Southrons, others of them might lay hold of the elfling and spirit him away.

As he hesitated, the Southrons covered the distance between themselves and Gandalf. One of them seized the wizard's staff and tossed it aside without sparing it a further glance.

"You'll be sorry if you cudgel me, grandfather," he said coolly. Then he turned to his fellows.

"Those cursed Dunlendings have brought us out on a fool's errand," he complained. "All I see here is an old Man and a sick boy."

Gandalf realized with relief that Anomen, wrapped in the blanket as he was, had not been recognized for an Elf.

The Man walked over to the Dunlendings and stared at their bodies.

"What has happened here?" he wondered aloud. "I see no wound caused by arrow or sword."

"They suffered from the same illness as afflicts this boy," Gandalf said quickly. "Quite a dreadful disease, really. If you do not want to catch it, you should hasten away."

"Oh, we'll hasten away all right," retorted the Man, "but you and he will hasten with us. I don't want to catch whatever sickness the boy has, but as you are about, you shall carry and nurse him. Generally a sick brat would be too much of a bother, but it cannot be denied that the price is right, seeing as how there is no longer any need to pay the Dunlendings for him. We may as well see if he can survive the trek south. If he doesn't, we will have lost little by it, having risked neither our money nor our lives. Now move along, old Man."

The Man gestured in a southerly direction, and Gandalf had no choice but to obey. If he disputed with the Man, he risked his discovering that Anomen was an Elf. Then the Man would be all the more set on carrying Anomen south. As in all matters economic, the rarer a commodity, the more valuable it is.

For hours Gandalf trudged south, cradling Anomen in both arms now that he had lost his staff. At last Anomen regained consciousness and began to lift his head to look about.

"Put your head down," Gandalf said softly.

"But Mithrandir," Anomen began to say.

"Whisper!" Gandalf commanded, doing so himself.

"But Mithrandir," whispered Anomen. "I am better now. You needn't carry me."

"You must pretend to be no better," said Gandalf.

"Why ever should I pretend to be ill?"

"I do not want those Southrons to draw near you. As long as they think you are ill, they will keep their distance."

"Southrons?" said Anomen, frightened now. He had known that the Haradrim were about, but to actually be in their hands was a terrifying turn of event.

"Yes. You were unconscious when they came to the clearing and took us prisoner."

Anomen lay quietly for quite some time. At last he timidly spoke up again.

"Mithrandir?"

"Yes, Anomen?"

"The Southrons are not known for their charity."

"Quite true, my lad."

"So if we are alive, it is because they think we will be of use to them."

"Also true."

"Mithrandir, if I continue ill, they may decide that I am of no value. I will be nothing but a bother to them, and, and—"

"I had thought of that," Gandalf said gently. "You must only pretend to be dreadfully ill until we are permitted to rest. Then, whilst I busy myself over you, I shall make shift to undo your braids so that your hair will cover your ears. Aye, and I will contrive to smear dirt upon your face. Then you may begin to 'recover', although do not do so too quickly, lest you arouse suspicion."

"I will be careful," promised Anomen, greatly relieved.

A little while later, the Southrons called a halt, and Gandalf did as he had promised. As the wizard fussed over the elfling, he undid his braids. "Remember, Anomen," he whispered as he rubbed dirt onto the elfling's face, "you must keep your ears covered. "If these Men realize that you are an Elf, they'll guard you ever so carefully."

Gandalf finished disguising the elfling as best he could, and a grubby Anomen, his hair hanging loose, sat up and drank a little water and nibbled on some bread. One of the Southrons, the leader apparently, nodded approvingly.

"Good. I was beginning to think that the brat would be more trouble than he was worth. He still looks somewhat feeble, though. Lucky for you, old Man, as you may continue to look after him for the time being."

"Anomen," Gandalf said urgently after the Southron strode away, "remember not to recover _too_ quickly!"

"Oh, I won't!" Anomen declared fervently.

When the Southrons ordered them to resume marching, Gandalf decided that he would carry Anomen pick-a-back.

"They will think you strong enough to hold me about the neck, but not so strong as to be able to walk. That would be best, I think."

In that fashion they marched on until nightfall. When they made camp, the leader ordered Gandalf to go into the surrounding forest to collect branches for the fire.

"But who will look after my grandson?" Gandalf protested.

"You needn't concern yourself about him, grandfather. We'll keep him safe."

Anomen made a great show of bursting into tears.

"I want my Gran'pa," he wailed piteously. "I want my Gran'pa!"

"Oh, very well," said the Southron, disgusted. "You may have your precious Gran'pa for the time being."

It was a very good thing for Gandalf that Anomen had made such a fuss, for, while they had been marching, the Southron had been reconsidering his decision to allow him to continue to care for Anomen. The 'boy' was alert, he was able to eat, and he had strength enough to cling to the old Man's neck. Perhaps the brat had recovered sufficiently so that they might dispense with the old Man, who would probably eat food of greater value than the few coins he might bring when they arrived in Harad. Thus, if Gandalf had gone into the woods, the Southron would have sent Men after him to cut his throat. But Anomen's ploy had forced him to give over that plan.

"The brat would have made himself sick again if he had kept up his wretched crying," the Southron muttered to one of his Men. "We'd best wait a few days before we get rid of the grandfather. Then we'll crush the old Man's skull while the two of them are sleeping. After we will drag the carcass into the woods and in the morning tell the boy that the old Man has run off. He'll cry the less because there will be no one about to cry _for_."

The Southron was adept in his trade. This was not the first time he had done away with captives he deemed unlikely to bring a profit in the slave market. By doing so, not only did he save on the cost of feeding supernumerary prisoners, but he also forestalled ugly scenes when children were separated from their families, for the children would have already done crying by the time they were auctioned off. Too demoralized to do otherwise, the youngsters would accompany their purchasers numbly, without creating the slightest fuss. Excellent business practice, really.

A hubbub arose at the front of the column. They had arrived at a rendezvous point, a camp where other Southrons awaited with their captives. As they entered the camp, both Anomen and Gandalf saw at once that there were no elderly prisoners.

"Mithrandir," Anomen whispered, "if you see a chance to slip away unnoticed, you had better take it."

"I will," Gandalf replied, "but only because I can now be of greater use to you if I am at liberty. I shall not go far but shall carve a new staff and then lurk about waiting for an opportunity to free you."

The Southron was giving orders to one of his Men.

"See that the boy is well-fed," he commanded.

"And the old Man?"

"Oh, I don't care about _him_," the Southron coolly replied. "If there are leftovers, let him have them."

The leader walked off, and his Man brought a bowl of stew to Anomen. Gandalf addressed him humbly.

"May I go aside to make water?"

Knowing that his leader had no interest in this prisoner, the Man nonchalantly replied, "Do what you will, old Man."

Gandalf winked at Anomen, arose, and went into the forest.

Several hours later, the Southron leader came by to check on his captive.

"Where is the old one?" he asked casually. His Man laughed.

"He begged leave to go aside to make water a long while ago. He never returned."

The Southron looked at Anomen, who sat there stoically. "Well," the Man chortled, "it seems that the old Man was not so loving a grandfather after all. You do well not to waste tears over his loss."

With that, the Southron strolled away.

While the Southron was congratulating himself at having gotten rid of the old Man with so little fuss from the boy, Glorfindel and his scouts were coming upon the spot where the Haradrim had seized their prisoners. Taurmeldir surveyed the scene before them. "Not much left," he said tersely.

Glorfindel dismounted from his horse and knelt beside a leg bone from which a scrap of cloth trailed.

"The scavenging beasts are as starved as the folk in this place; when they happen upon a carcass, they leave little behind. Still, although the evidence be scanty, I do not believe that these bones are those of either Anomen or Mithrandir. The bones belonged to adults—that is certain. That would rule out Anomen. And these scraps of cloth, they are dirty and stained so that their true color is hard to tell, but they seem more brown than grey. That would rule out Mithrandir."

He arose and walked over to a skull. He bent down and picked it up.

"A little hair still clings to it. Brown, not grey."

He examined the two other skulls. Again, brown hair, not grey.

"Yet Anomen and Mithrandir were both here," said Taurmeldir, pointing at the tracks.

Glorfindel nodded.

"Yes, and a great many Men, more than these three."

The balrog-slayer looked closely at the ground.

"The earth is scorched hereabouts, but the only burned sticks are those in that fire ring over yonder. It is as if the soil itself caught fire."

He bent down and picked up a gnawed boot.

"Scorch marks on this boot, too. Look here: this looks very like the mark left when a Man has been struck by lightning, with the bolt exiting from the foot. Yet I do not think these Men were felled by lightning."

"Perhaps by Mithrandir's staff?"

"Aye—look here!"

Glorfindel bent down and retrieved a bit of rope that lay at the base of a tree.

"This rope has been cut. Elrond believed that Anomen was at liberty but that Mithrandir was constrained in some fashion. I would venture that this rope was used to bind our wizard, and I'll wager that it was Anomen who crept up and cut it."

"But if Anomen freed Mithrandir, why have we not encountered them? Surely once they escaped they would flee toward safety."

"I fear Mithrandir was taken a second time. This boot is of Dunland make, but those tracks leading away from the clearing were made by Southrons."

Taurmeldir looked grave. It was bad to be captured by Dunlendings but worse to be taken by Southrons.

Glorfindel searched about until he found Mithrandir's staff in the bush into which it had been cast by his captors.

"Ai! He will be able to make little use of his magic now," the balrog-slayer said somberly. He continued to search until he found one of Mithrandir's prints amongst those of the Southrons.

"Yes, it is as I feared: Mithrandir is a prisoner of the Haradrim."

"What of Anomen?"

Glorfindel shook his head.

"I see none of his prints leading away from the clearing."

"Perhaps," Taurmeldir said hopefully, "he has taken to the trees."

"Perhaps," Glorfindel said thoughtfully. "But he is very small in size. He could have been carried off. One thing is certain: wherever Mithrandir is, there will he be as well. If the young one be not a captive, then be sure that he is dogging the steps of the wizard and his captors. Anomen would not leave him! So let us follow Mithrandir's trail, knowing that by doing so we will be following Anomen's as well."

The Elves hastened onward. They did not believe the Southrons to be very far ahead, and they intended to ride as long as the light held out.

Gandalf, meanwhile, was intent upon transforming a long piece of wood into a staff. The fashioning of a staff is no trivial matter, else Gandalf would have seized the first stick he happened upon, set the camp ablaze, and fled with Anomen in the confusion that resulted. Instead, the chosen piece of wood first had to be coaxed into becoming a conduit for the power of the wizard. Lacking a knife, the wizard was scrambling about looking for a piece of stone that might serve for shaping the wood. For a long time, he found only unsuitable rocks.

"Pah," he muttered, casting aside a chunk of shale, "useless. No way to get a sharp edge out of this. Couldn't even use it as a hammerstone: it would shatter at the first blow."

The wizard kept up the search, examining and rejecting dozens of rocks. At last he found what he was looking for: a large chunk of flint.

"Oh ho!" he exclaimed. "Now here is something like!"

The Istar sat cross-legged, his cloak spread between his knees. With a piece of granite, he carefully struck off an edge from the chunk of flint, knapping the fragment until he had fashioned a passable scraper. Then he set to work stripping the chosen stick of its bark. Bent over the nascent staff, as he worked the Maia began to chant the words that would change it from a mere assemblage of woody cells into an extension of the wizard himself. Suddenly, however, he ceased both chanting and scraping. He had heard hoof beats.

"Blast," he muttered. "This staff is not altogether ready. Well, I may have to use it nonetheless."

The wizard ducked into a thicket and warily awaited the arrival of the horses. All at once it occurred to him that the horses were approaching from the north. Could these be Elrond's folk, come in search of a wayward elfling? Perhaps, but the wizard was not about to show himself until he was certain. Suddenly the hoof beats were stilled. Gandalf strained to hear or see further, but all was still.

"It is ridiculously easy to creep up on you," came a voice at his shoulder. Gandalf nearly leapt out of his robe.

"Glor-fin-del." the wizard growled.

"Yes?" the balrog-slayer replied innocently. But then he abandoned his light-hearted manner and turned to the business at hand.

"I had thought you were a prisoner and Anomen perchance a prisoner as well. Yet I find you at liberty. Is Anomen safe as well?"

Gandalf shook his head.

"Not yet. He is held in a Southron camp. I have but lately slipped away from that same camp and was devising a staff so that I might effect a rescue. But how did you know I had been taken?"

"Anomen sent a message by two crows: two matching pieces of bark, one with the rune for 'M' scratched upon it, the other marked with the rune for 'A'. Elrond took that to mean that the two of you had been separated one from the other and that you had been captured."

"Clever lad! I wonder he did not mention it to me—but then he has had a rather trying time of it so no doubt it slipped his mind. Indeed, I am surprised he remembers his own name, for he was forced to hold my staff whilst I cast a spell. Rather like being struck by lightning, don't you know—which is why, by the by, that wizards don't run about curing all the world's ills by brandishing their staffs and muttering incantations! Magic is to be wielded sparingly, if at all."

Glorfindel smiled.

"Ah, yes, your staff. You will be happy to know that we found it in a clearing near to the bones of some Dunlendings. Was that your doing?"

"Yes, that was the outcome of the spell I was speaking of just now. I was not trying to take their lives but was merely trying to be sure of getting the job done. As it happened, I used more power than was necessary."

"I hope you do not lose any sleep over it."

"No, I will not. I did the best I could in a dispute that the Dunlendings themselves precipitated. But we can talk of that matter later. Let us discuss the business at hand. I had thought I would only be able to rescue Anomen, but now that you and your warriors are here, we should be able to liberate all of the captives."

Glorfindel shook his head.

"It is not our affair, for they are Men. We have come to aid you and Anomen. That is the sole charge that was laid upon us."

"For shame, Glorfindel," scolded Gandalf. "I am no Elf. Yet Anomen put himself in peril on my behalf. He would not be in that camp had he not insisted on helping me. And Anomen is no Maia, yet I was preparing to rescue him. Let Free Folk help one another, regardless of race."

"Next you will have us rushing to the aid of Dwarves!" exclaimed Glorfindel.

"And why not?" rejoined Gandalf. "Elf helping Dwarf; Dwarf helping Elf. That would be a delightful state of affairs. Now, will you help me? That is to say, will you not help those captives? Many of them are children, by the way."

"Very well," agreed Glorfindel, his reluctance overcome at the thought of younglings, even human ones, enslaved by the Haradrim.

As Gandalf was arguing with Glorfindel, Anomen was patiently awaiting rescue in the Southron camp. He was confident that Gandalf would return for him, and he was therefore a most placid prisoner, much to the delight of his Southron captor.

"There's a good boy," he said approvingly as Anomen, ordered to eat, obligingly scraped his bowl clean. "You continue in this fashion, giving me no causing for complaint, and I promise to sell you only to a good master, one who will beat you only when necessary and not for entertainment."

Anomen supposed he was expected to be grateful, and so he thanked the Southron. Then, distractedly, he lifted his hand to his ear and scratched it. The Southron stared in disbelief.

"An Elf," he whispered, looking around hastily to make sure that no one else had seen Anomen's pointed ears. He did not want to be murdered for his prize. "Cover your ears," he ordered, his voice low and urgent. "And come with me at once. Don't make a sound!"

The Southron led Anomen into the forest.

"Now, my lad," he said once they were out of hearing of the camp, "as you are an Elf, perhaps I did wrong in not sending someone to search for your grandfather when the poor agéd Man became lost in this forest. He had a beard—that is why I behaved so. I never should have treated him so, but I had not known Elves to have beards. Howsoever, beard or no beard, he is your grandfather and therefore no ordinary mortal. And so I have done wrong. Oh, yes, I freely admit it! But I will make amends. Yes! I certainly will. Call him, my lad, and you and I will see that he is as well fed as ye have been just now."

Anomen remained silent.

"Now, my little lad," wheedled the Southron, "I know you must be angry because you think your grandpapa ran off and left you. But you shouldn't feel so! Undoubtedly he lost his way in the woods and couldn't find his way back to the camp. But if he should hear you call, he would know which way to come running. Come! there's a good lad! Let's hear you give a shout. Think how joyful your grandpapa will be to hear your voice again."

Still Anomen remained silent. The Southron tried again.

"You don't want your grandpapa to starve alone in the woods, do you, lad? No! I am sure you do not! That would be dreadful! Call him, my lad, and you will save him from that fate. You wouldn't want that on your conscience, would you?"

Anomen said not a word. The Southron, now having used up his small stock of patience, decided to try a different tack in order to recover the suddenly valuable old 'elf'. He gripped Anomen by the shoulders so tightly that for days afterward the marks of his fingers could be seen on the elfling's skin.

"I am trying to be kind to both you and your grandfather," he snarled, "but you seem determined to try my patience. Call him, or you will pay dearly for your stubbornness."

Anomen's eyes filled with tears, but he clamped his mouth shut and made not a sound. The Southron released one of his shoulders and with his free hand clouted Anomen on the side of the head.

"Call. Him. Now." Each word was punctuated by a blow.

Gandalf stepped forth from behind a tree.

"Ah hah," crowed the Southron, "lucky for the brat, you still have some feelings for him. Now take off that ridiculous hat so that I may see your ears."

His eyes fixed upon the wizard, the Southron released his hold on Anomen, who collapsed to the ground.

"Anomen," Gandalf called in the Sindarin tongue, "close your eyes tightly and do not open them until I tell you."

"So you _are_ an elvish wight," gloated the Southron, who could not speak elvish but recognized the sound of it.

"I am certainly no mortal," rejoined Gandalf, pointing his staff at the Man. From its end shot a dazzling light that enveloped the Southron, turning him instantaneously into a fireball that was thrown fifty feet through the air. The blazing fireball landed upon the ground and burned brightly for several more seconds before it died down, leaving behind only grey ash and a few fragments of scorched bone.

"Oops," said Gandalf cheerfully.

Glorfindel emerged from the forest and raised his eyebrows after the fashion of Elrond.

"Becoming rather fond of that maneuver, are we?" the balrog-slayer commented dryly.

"I will admit that I need to refine my technique somewhat," replied Gandalf insouciantly.

"Yes, especially as you have now deprived us of the advantage of a surprise attack."

"Oh, I think not. There are quite a few trees between us and the camp. Moreover, I hope you notice that I sent that villain flying away from the camp, in a northerly direction. You and your scouts will find the surviving Southrons quite oblivious to your presence. And now, if you will excuse me, I need to tend to my grandson."

"You are not going to join us in the attack on the camp?"

"My dear Glorfindel, how many lightening bolts do you think I pack in this spare frame of mine? No, I have done my part, and now it is your turn."

The balrog-slayer shook his head but smiled as he vanished back into the woods to issue commands to his scouts. As for Anomen, Gandalf bade him open his eyes, and the elfling at once launched himself at the wizard, throwing his arms about his waist and looking up at the Istar with a beatific smile.

"Here, now," growled the wizard, "you needn't turn that innocent, blue-eyed gaze toward _me_. I am proof against it, I assure you!"

But Gandalf, for all his gruffness, could not disguise the twinkle in his own eye, and Anomen, with his excellent elven vision, did not fail to notice this fact. And so, after the requisite display of sternness, the wizard returned the hug, and with interest.


	5. The Final Domino

**Here you go, folks, the last chapter of _The Domino Effect_.**

**_Farflung_****: Yes, in one way it would be very foolish for Men to enslave an Elf, even a young one, because the Elf would grow up to be very clever and powerful. But the Men are thinking, if we can keep this one chained up, he'll be a slave for an eternity: what a payoff for our initial investment! Yes, I think it is quite necessary to place limits on Gandalf's power, either physically or by his choice, because in the end it is for mortals to choose the sort of world they will live in. No struggle, no meaning. Elves with younglings on their hands, eh? He he! Coming up!**

_Dragonfly:_ Gandalf cheerfully saying "Oops!" may not have been after the style of Tolkien, but I couldn't resist. On second thought, though, the Gandalf of The Hobbit, probably _would_ have said "Oops!"

**_Kel_****: You're right: Anomen would never have betrayed Gandalf.**

_Joee_: Well, there's trouble coming up, but not the usual sort of trouble.

_Legosgurl_: Work? You have work? Are you suggesting that there is a Real World out there?

Beta Reader: _Dragonfly_

**Chapter 5: The Final Domino**

Glorfindel was horrified. He had never been in such a dreadful situation—no, not even when he had faced off against the balrog.

"What are we going to do, Taurmeldir? What are we going to do?"

Taurmeldir tried to comfort him.

"Be strong, Glorfindel. Do not give way to despair. Come what may, we must never forget that we are of the Eldar."

Glorfindel tried to steel himself.

"Very well," he said bravely. "I shall acquit myself nobly." He took a deep breath and tightly gripped his weapon of choice.

"Now, now," he said as sweetly as he could. "Look at the mommy birdie flying about. Oh, look! She thinks you are her nestling. Open your beak wide, like a baby bird. That's good!"

Quickly the balrog-slayer fed a spoonful of broth to the Dunlending toddler, whose eyes were as wide as his mouth.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this!" Glorfindel exclaimed in delight. Suddenly his delight changed to consternation.

"Taurmeldir, what _is_ that awful smell?"

"You need to tend to the other end, Glorfindel."

"Blast! And I was just getting used to this end. But what shall I do for a clean nappy?"

"When we need bandages, we tear our cloaks into strips. I suppose we could do the same for nappies."

Glorfindel sighed and loosed his cloak.

"I don't see why Mithrandir can't take a turn," he grumbled as he ripped a strip from the garment's edge

"He is looking after Anomen, Glorfindel. After all, the lad is badly bruised about the face."

"Yes, but once his face was bathed, there really wasn't anything more Mithrandir could do about it. He could just as well have turned his hand to bathing a baby's bottom."

Taurmeldir shrugged.

"If you want to try to draft a wizard as a nursemaid, you go right ahead. I, however, value my ears and do not wish to see them set alight."

Glorfindel subsided and actually did a creditable job of cleaning and diapering the toddler, whose mother had succumbed to illness in spite of all that the Elves could do. Then he handed the child off to one of the older children to mind for a little while.

"Well," he said, "they are all fed and bathed. Let us resume our journey."

All about him Elves lifted liberated children onto horses and began to lead them forth from their latest bivouac. 'At least', Glorfindel thought with some satisfaction, 'we have been finding homes for them as we have journeyed north. Perhaps by the time we reach Imladris, we shall have found situations for all of them. And if we have not, it becomes Elrond's problem. No, even better: Elrond will hand them off to Erestor. Ha! I almost hope we have a few left. I should like see Erestor changing a nappy or two!'

As it happened, however, at each cottage they approached, they were greeted by folk eager to take in one or more of the foundlings, often because, sadly, they themselves had lost children in earlier raids. In some cases the older children were able to guide them to their natal parents, although more than once they came upon burned out cottages and were forced to abandon hope of reuniting the young ones with their families.

At the end of the slow journey north, only the Elves and their wizard remained when the party mounted to the crest of the mountain that overlooked the valley of Rivendell. "Well," announced Gandalf grandly, "now that I have seen you safely here, I shall once again set out for my original destination, which was of course the rendezvous with Radagast, followed by a journey to Isengard."

"Mithrandir," said Anomen hopefully, "remember you said that—"

"No."

"But, Mithrandir—"

"No."

"Anomen," Glorfindel said sternly, "you must give over any thought of accompanying Mithrandir on his journey. It is time for you to pay the piper."

"What piper? And why have I got to pay him?" Anomen asked innocently. Taurmeldir snorted, but a glare from Glorfindel caused him to immediately adopt a grave expression.

"Glorfindel means," Gandalf explained helpfully, "that it is time for you to face the music."

Anomen found this statement to be as mystifying as Glorfindel's.

"Mithrandir, I suppose you mean that the piper will play music, and then I must pay him. But how shall I? I haven't any coins, unless Lord Elrond should give me some. But then why doesn't Lord Elrond simply pay the piper himself?"

This was too much for Taurmeldir, who suddenly urged his horse into motion so that he might draw far enough ahead of the others in order to laugh in relative safety.

Mithrandir tried again.

"Anomen," he intoned, "it is time for you to stand before Lord Elrond, who must judge you and assign you a punishment commensurate with your misdeeds. Now off my horse and onto Glorfindel's."

With that, the wizard lifted the elfling up from before him and handed him over to Glorfindel. Then, ignoring Anomen's reproachful gaze, Gandalf pulled his horse about and cantered away. Behind him, Glorfindel took the precaution of getting a good grip on the neck of Anomen's tunic.

"Now then, youngling," the balrog-slayer proclaimed, "let us see what task Elrond shall assign so as to requite you for the trouble you have caused. No doubt he has given it much thought in your absence and shall therefore be more than usually creative."

As Anomen already knew Elrond to be highly creative in his punishments, the elfling of course found this prospect to be highly distasteful. He wriggled a little, just experimentally, to see if he might be able to slip from his tunic and thus elude Glorfindel. Ai! Glorfindel merely gathered the folds of cloth more securely in his fist. There was nothing for it but to stand before Elrond and hear his doom pronounced.

As they descended the mountain, they were spied from afar, and by the time they reached the Hall Elrond and many from his household stood awaiting them. Among the company were Elladan, who surreptitiously (and predictably) waved and smiled at Anomen, and Elrohir, who surreptitiously (and predictably) stuck out his tongue at his foster-brother. Anomen allowed himself to be pleased by the one gesture without being excessively troubled by the second.

Elrond calmly greeted all the members of the company and gravely inquired after their health and well-being. He was not the sort of parent who would rebuke younglings in front of a crowd of onlookers. No, he would speak with Anomen privately, after the elfling had bathed, changed, and dined. It thus occurred to Anomen that he might be able to slip away from the Hall sometime during the stages preparatory to his audience with Elrond. Suddenly, however, he heard the voice of Gandalf as clearly as if the Maia were standing at his shoulder.

"You will only delay the inevitable if you run off yet again—aye, and add punishment upon punishment, too. Square your shoulders and face your fate like an Elf!"

Anomen sighed.

'I wish you were standing by my side', he replied silently. Suddenly, however, he knew why his wizard had departed from the very brink of Rivendell: the Istar did not want Anomen to hope that the agéd wizard would mediate between elfling and elf-lord.

'Very well, then', the elfling thought. 'I shall make you proud of me. Just you watch!' He lifted his chin and marched bravely past Elrond into the Hall. (Of course, as Anomen passed by Elrohir, he was not so noble as to forgo jabbing an elbow into the older elfling's side, but, really, a youngling can only be expected to evince so much virtue at any one time.)

Later that evening Anomen, still resolute, went without delay to Elrond's chamber when the expected summons was delivered by Taurmeldir. There he found not only Elrond but also Glorfindel and Erestor.

"I have asked the Lords Erestor and Glorfindel to be here because you wronged the one by wreaking havoc in the library and you wronged the other by forcing him to yet again spend time and energy in search of you. It therefore seems to me that they, and not I, should determine your punishment. Do you agree?"

"Yes, Lord Elrond. It is only fair that the wronged parties be the ones to seek justice."

Elrond raised his eyebrows, but Anomen gazed at him steadfastly, without the slightest trace of the piteous expression that Elrond knew the elfling could summon at will. Elrond turned to Glorfindel.

"My friend, what deem you to be the appropriate penalty for Anomen's transgression?"

As Glorfindel gazed at Anomen, it suddenly seemed to him that he was instead looking upon the face of the wide-eyed Dunlending toddler.

"Elrond, you have often said to me that we can never be sure why events unfold as they do—that our actions, whatever our intentions, may be governed by a purpose to which we are not privy."

"I have said so, yes," agreed Elrond, puzzled as to what Glorfindel's ruminations had to do with the issue at hand.

"Anomen's flight from Imladris set in motion a chain of events that ended with the liberation of many children who would otherwise at this very moment be shuffling towards a dreadful fate at the hands of Haradrim masters. In the course of those events, Anomen was grievously injured yet proved brave and loyal to Mithrandir in the face of great abuse. For my part, I would remit all penalties, both because of the outcome and because of Anomen's stoutness of heart."

"You are not saying that Anomen has done no wrong?" queried Elrond.

"No, he did wrong at the outset. He tried to reach an object that he knew had been forbidden him, and he ran off rather than take responsibility for his behavior. Although," Glorfindel added, looking thoughtfully at the elfling, "perhaps the latter was less an ethical failing on his part than a sign that Anomen still needs to learn that he may trust his guardians to deal fairly with him. Howsoever, he has paid for his mistakes. He has been singed by a wizard and clouted by a ruffian—which was the worst, I shall leave him to determine!"

This was quite a speech for the laconic Glorfindel, and Elrond was impressed. He nodded.

"Very well. I have said that it was up to you to set the penalty for the wrong done you, and if you are satisfied, I must consider the matter to be at an end—for your part, that is." He turned to Erestor.

"What say you, Lord Erestor? Anomen showed no stoutness of heart in the library, and surely insofar as that chamber is concerned he did not set in motion events that led to a desirable conclusion."

"True," conceded Erestor, "and I know that on the day of the disaster I swore that Anomen would have to restore each and every book to its proper place. However, the next day it occurred to me that he wouldn't know to put each volume back in the right spot, so, well, I have already put back all the books myself."

"Come! come!" cried Elrond. "You are not going to tell me that you, too, would remit all penalties?"

"No, I do not mean to suggest that," said Erestor. "The shelves having been knocked over, a great deal of dust was stirred up. Truly, I had not realized how dirty the shelves had become, especially the topmost ones, for that is where I keep the books that are consulted the least. Here is what I will demand of him: He shall take rags and wipe down each and every shelf in each and every bookcase. There now!"

"You are forgetting something," Glorfindel pointed out. "The topmost shelves are out of his reach. It was for that reason that he climbed up the front of a bookcase, knocking it over and thus bringing down all the other shelves. If you set him to dusting the top shelves, I am certain that the bookcases shall again fall like so many dominoes."

"I have not forgotten," said Erestor smugly. "I have had stepstools built so that even the smallest of elflings can easily reach the topmost shelves."

It occurred to Elrond that, a stool having been provided, there was now no way that Erestor could keep elflings from getting their hands on the books that he deemed salacious. Still, the Lord of Imladris was not about to complicate matters by pointing out that fact. As he glanced at Anomen, however, he realized that what had escaped Erestor's notice had not escaped _his_. The gleam in the elfling's eye was unmistakable, and Elrond knew for a certainty that the lad, whilst he dusted, would be carefully noting the locations of the most desirable volumes. Elrond forced his eyebrows down into a horizontal position and addressed Anomen.

"Well, ion-nîn, does this punishment seem—suitable?"

Modeling himself upon the elf-lord, Anomen kept his voice carefully neutral.

"I shall attend to this task with great diligence."

"I am sure you will," said Elrond dryly. He waved his dismissal, and Anomen bowed deeply and departed from the room with as much restraint as he could muster. Once past the door, however, he sprinted for the library and launched into his task with astounding vigor, given that his preferred approach to dirt was to stay as far away from it as possible. He would have kept 'dusting' well past bedtime had not Erestor shooed him from the chamber so that he could enjoy a respite from Anomen's frenzied assault upon the shelves.

To Erestor's bewilderment, the next morning not only Anomen but also Elladan and Elrohir appeared in the library and announced their intention of spending the day dusting. "We want to help our brother," Elrohir assured Erestor, a statement that would have been more believable had it been uttered by Elladan. Fortunately, after a time Glorfindel sought the elflings out and dragged them away to the practice fields for their archery lesson, else Erestor should not have enjoyed a moment's solitude. However, as soon as Glorfindel had finished putting them through their paces, they promptly returned to the library and recommenced dusting.

This state of affairs continued for several weeks. "I have always said that the young ones need to spend more time in the library," Erestor said one evening, "but perhaps it is true what Men say: 'be careful what you wish for'. They clean with such excruciating care that I do not believe they will ever be finished with the task. Elrond, they turn the pages of each and every book, carefully searching for damage caused by insects and moisture. Why, they are still working on the topmost shelves. It will take an age before they reach the lower shelves."

"Indeed?" replied Elrond, his voice neutral, his eyebrows under tight control. "Well, I suppose we should be grateful that they recognize the value of books."

"Yes, I suppose you are right," agreed Erestor. However, he would have been happier had he realized that the elflings' enthusiasm for cleaning was nearly at an end. In due course the elflings did complete their careful examination of the books on the top shelves, and from that point onward their interest in dusting declined. In fact, by the time they reached the bottommost shelves, they were giving the books only the most cursory of examinations. And finally the day came when they did not appear in the library, save at the times designated for their lessons. Said Gandalf when he heard of this, "I do believe, Elrond, that the uttermost domino has finally fallen."

"Yes," said Elrond, smiling, "I do believe it has."

FIN


End file.
